


The Joke Was On Me

by Maria_and_Aguilars_Codex_1492



Series: The Dark Knight Trilogy [4]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, Joker (2019), The Dark Knight (2008)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Heath Ledger Joker - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Multi, Polygamy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 21:15:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18432257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maria_and_Aguilars_Codex_1492/pseuds/Maria_and_Aguilars_Codex_1492
Summary: Jim Gordon should have known that Gotham's symbol of justice would bring in equally powerful criminals. He shouldn't have brushed off the Clown Family of Crime as being nothing more than an inconvenience. He should have kept a close watch as the Joker gave Gotham a new class of criminal. Set before, during, and after the events of the Dark Knight.





	The Joke Was On Me

_ They were truly soulmates if such a thing existed.  _

 

When they had first appeared to the public in the form of robberies in the paper most citizens suspected that they were brother and sister--twins--as they were mirrors of each other. It was almost  _ funny _ how no one ever got the story right despite everything being shown.  _ Brother and sister, maybe she was his victim once, is their son even their son, maybe they were strangers once-- _

 

It made her want to laugh, to scream, to burn their homes to the ground. If only telling the stories wasn’t so much _ fun _ then Gotham may have learned of their true origins. The names would be misleading,  _ every conspiracy theorist in Gotham tries connecting them to a missing person _ , though her name from before is nothing more than a smudge against glass. It had been  _ so long _ since they were something else, but they had always been  _ something  _ to each other.  _ Friends, partners, husband and wife,  _ they both used to speak in the night of how they were made for each other if such a higher order truly existed. Then they had  _ died _ , were brought back to Gotham, and they had their children not long after. No one ever  _cared_ about Gotham's children after all. 

Joker Jr wasn’t even their son by blood, neither was their sweet little Ace of Diamonds, or maybe they were, but their original intentions hadn’t been the  _ purest _  no matter the lineage as they killed the young children. _ Children are easy to mold after all _ and he had been no different by the time they were done with him. Neither had the girl although they had unintentionally made her into a  _mummer_ after one too many blows. 

But they were theirs _no matter_ how broken they had become.

* * *

 

* * *

The Queen of Hearts was from the Narrows, born and raised, with a father that brought in little to no income and a mother that didn’t bother to work to begin with. For thirteen years she had somehow managed to go to the one high school that was on the edge of Downtown. During the last three she had met  _ him _ . 

 

He had been distant, as collected as he was calm, despite the anxious tapping of his leg that caused him to bump the desk. It had been a new school year, and she had never seen him before. She probably wouldn’t have gotten to know him either had the teacher not paired them together for the year. They had been detached from each other at first. Following the other like a shadow until one day she asked him if she could walk home with him. That was when they had traded names. It wasn’t out of lack of trust as much as it was the fun of simply  _ existing _ with the other without some kind of mask between them. 

 

“Elizabeth Jones. Jeanine Kurr.” Those had been her top picks, she had liked the names and they were close if not true in some form, and he had hummed as he passed her the cigarette that he had once had between his lips. 

 

“Jack Ledger or Heath Napier sounds  _ amicable _ .” A part of her wonders if there is some truth in his as she inhales one of the things she had hoped to not touch until her senior year. 

 

They had remained by each other's side until then. Every class that they shared would be with them joined hip-to-hip until others knew to stay away. Every morning would be spent with a walk to school, every night they would meet depending on who got off of work before the other, and in between they would sit down in their isolated place to watch the sunset or rise before them. It had been simple and perfect, and the day before their graduation they had sat down to watch the sunrise as they always did when he told her. 

 

Strangers assumed that they were siblings, twins maybe, with their matching brown curls and smile. Their parents assumed that they were fucking and that it was a fling, and they were at least true about the former. 

 

“ _ Queen _ .” He had run his fingers along her palm, holding her hand as they always had until their palms began to sweat. “Queen?” She had questioned, and he had smiled with something swirling in his gaze that matched her own.

 

“I  _ figured _ that we could name each other. Queen is what I chose.”

 

She sampled it on her tongue, smiling back, “I think I’ll call you Joker.”

 

They had laughed then,  _ laughed _ as they always did before they  _ died _ .

* * *

* * *

 

_ When their dog tags became soaked in blood-- _

 

_ When they became soaked in blood-crawling and pushing each other to live until the desert began to consume them-- _

 

_ Their team used to joke about their names-- _

* * *

* * *

 

_ Arthur Fleck had lived in Gotham for forty-four years.  _

 

His life--a never-ending cycle--dedicated to his mother, taking care of her, making sure that she never missed an appointment to her doctors. A beat that he had never missed in the past twenty years since they first said that she was developing signs of frontotemporal dementia. At first, it had been a simple enough promise to make: a dedication to the woman who had given him life. He would spend his mornings taking care of her before going to his work at  _ Arkham _ as a security guard. Only eventually the lay-offs began and Arthur had been the first to be pushed out the doors.

 

_ His life--pressed upon him no matter how many pills the doctors placed him on.  _

 

Depression had curled into his skin after that. Never letting go as it fueled his past anxiety. The in-betweens of things began with a job that wouldn’t last.  _ Kane’s Electronics _ was slowly going out of business, and it was his job to dress as a clown to bring people in.  _ To bring laughter to the world. _

 

But things were never simple...not when the Scarecrow had appeared, spreading his fear toxin, as the man known as the Batman saved the precious city. His mother had smiled at the screen and Arthur, despite no animosity, had frowned at the screen.

* * *

* * *

 

_ Things only seemed to worsen-- _

 

_ One pill bottle became two, two became four-- _

 

_ Then whispers of people in war paint dressed as clowns began to send a knowing fear down Gotham’s spine-- _

* * *

* * *

 

It was sometime later when anything related to clowns began going out of style that everything went  _ downhill _ . 

 

The morning of his job had been like any other: dancing, smiling, twirling the sign into the air before directed pedestrians towards the store. Arthur did enjoy his job, despite how most would despise it if they were in his position, but Arthur had always perhaps been a little strange.  _ A little more hesitant of the world _ . It was why he had felt something crawl up his spine as he noticed the five teenagers walking towards him with grins and the symbols of  _ Batman _ painted upon their fist. 

 

“ _ Hey, Clown! _ ” “ _ Joker! _ ” “ _ Whatcha doing you fucking freak! _ ” They said the same things as they reached out to grab him. Digging their fingers into fistfuls of his cheap clown suit and wig before one finally pulled the sign from his hands. “ _ Run! _ ” The one that had grabbed his sign called out causing the teens to race across traffic and Arthur followed. 

 

_ He had to follow _ \--he couldn’t risk a deduction from a paycheck that was already so little. Not as his mother's condition worsened with every passing day as the bills only seemed to grow higher. So he ran, he had always been fast, and as they raced down an alleyway Arthur felt his tongue catch in his throat because  _ something was horribly wrong, there was only four-- _

 

The sign snapped in half as it hit him, becoming whimsy in the teens' hands as he beat him with it, and Arthur cried as they left him on the dirty pavement.

 

“ _ I’m sorry _ .” He spoke, to himself, to his mother, to whatever force that found his misery to be funny because all he had left as he turned in the broken sign was his humility. Even when Kane clicked his tongue as he marked down the cost before motioning for Arthur to leave.

 

“Go home for today Arthur. I’ll get someone else.” Kane’s tone was dull, and as Arthur stepped out into the streets he almost wished that he could feel nothing at all.

* * *

* * *

 

_ His mother was gone-- _

 

_ His mother was dead--dead, dead, dead-- _

* * *

* * *

 

All he could do was laugh on the subway as his tears burned his eyes. He had gone to the comedy club in hopes to find joy after putting his mother to bed. He hoped to  _ make _ joy and laughter for the ones inside until they filtered out into the early morning to go back to their lives. Arthur had to eventually follow, crying again as Kane handed him his last paycheck--

 

_ Why don’t you just smile, Arthur?  _

 

He had,  _ he truly had _ , wanted to smile, pulling back his mouth until the tears smeared his clown makeup, and nothing came from it as he packed away what little he had in the back makeup room. 

 

_ Find somewhere better Arthur, I know you can _ .

 

When he had taken the long trip home only to find his mother not breathing. Lifeless. A shell that no longer held what made her  _ her _ . Arthur had screamed, cried out for answers, before smashing his face into the glass of the bathroom mirror. He needed to leave _ , to call someone _ , to do _ something _ , so he did. He ran as fast as he could to the subway with the few dollars he had left to give him access and then--

 

_ They beat him.  _

 

_ Clean cut men in prestigious suits.  _

 

_ “What are you laughing at?” One had asked as they ripped away his wig and punched him into the cold metal ground. Oh, how he had laughed when their eyes widened in terror at the knife. It was their knife. They were going to cut him, but he cut them first and they had then seen their mistake-- _

* * *

* * *

 

Arthur was laughing.

The subway bathroom was dirty, complete filth, but it was his  _ stage _ as he bent his foot, swinging it forward, an act of muscle memory as he danced around. The cheap fluorescents burned into his eyes, matching the sting of blood that trailed from his nose and mouth, smearing against the white paint on his chin, ever equivalent to the tears that had long since dried. Then he turned, spreading his arms out, looking into the mirror at someone that wasn’t  _ him _ , just a clown with bloodied hands. 

 

“Well _ hello  _ **_beautiful_ ** .” 


End file.
